


Rapture

by MagicMeg



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fake AH Crew, Gore, Hurt, Psychological Torture, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Unrequited Myan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 11:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4959325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicMeg/pseuds/MagicMeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s a legend; terrorising Los Santos and giving the Fake AH Crew a run for their money. However, when Ryan expresses his disbelief in her actual existence – things get personal. On a mission gone wrong with Michael, he finds himself captured by the horror-tale herself: Doll-Face. Grief-stricken and full of guilt, Michael finds himself spiraling into helplessness as Ryan finds himself in the power of someone as infamous at torture as himself. And what’s more surprising than the Vagabond being overpowered? The Vagabond falling for his captor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I: Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fic was a creation of my misery. I took all the bad I was feeling in my mind and poured it into this fic – making it my darkest, most serious and mature fic I’ve ever written. That’s all the warning you’ll get.

Ryan loved nothing more than fiery wreckage on a rainy day. He could sit on the rooftop of a building, legs hanging off the edge and watch the gas station smoke and flicker with fire whilst he remained in the background - protected by the shade cast by the thick dark rainclouds. He looked with envy upon the mess of metal and smoke, and wondered idly who’d set off the explosion.

It was a work of art to be sure. The cops were crawling all over it, desperate for evidence but they couldn’t make sense of it. They couldn’t figure out a why, how or who. For Ryan, the ‘why’ was unimportant, chaos didn’t require a reason for existing, only that it did. The ‘how’ was simple. A small, but powerful, bomb had been slipped into one of the gas pumps and then set off later. But the ‘who’ he just didn’t know.

A pair of feet appeared on his right and a voice said, “They’re saying it was _her_.”

Ryan scoffed.

“What? You don’t think she could’ve done it?”

“It’s not a matter of skill,” he drawled, “It’s more the fact that she doesn’t exist.” His friend sent him an incredulous look. “Doll-Face is a _legend_ , Michael. Created by the mob bosses to instil fear.”

“You better hope she doesn’t hear you saying that. Rumour says she’s snuffs out non-believers before they even have the air to yell ‘I believe!’,” Michael told him, half-serious, half-joking.

Ryan could see sun timidly breaking through the cloud in the distance. “Did you forget that rumour also says we’re secret lovers, waiting to have enough cash to buy a private island for ourselves?”

The younger man let out a nervous chuckle, “Fuck. Yeah, I forgot about that.”

“We should head back,” Ryan told him, eyeing the strands of sunlight. Michael made a non-committal noise and offered him a helping hand as he rose to his feet. Not noticing the pair of brown eyes which watched them leave.

\----

It was a run of the mill heist. One of the simplest ones they’d attempted in the past month. They could only blame themselves if something went wrong.

“Team Crazy Mad,” Geoff’s voice crackled over the intercom, “what’s your status?”

“Good as ever,” Ryan responded as he hacked into the security system of the bank they were breaking into. He didn’t notice the warm smile Michael sent him. “Aaaand we’re in!”

“Alright. Good luck and remember – take care of each other,” Geoff said firmly, “We’ll be waiting outside for your signal.”

“Flare gun already prepped,” Michael told him cheerfully, patting Ryan on the back as they walked through the dark hallways. Their earpieces crackled once more and then went silent, they were on their own.

“You coming to drinks tonight?” Michael asked them as they crept down the deserted hallway. Ryan gave a shrug. “Well obviously not to drink but to celebrate.”

“Mhmm, I might,” he replied, peering around a corner before deciding it was clear. “Depends if Gavin’s decides to shoot me again.”

The other man chuckled softly, “Fucking idiot.”

“Though you did give him a good shiner for that one,” Ryan replied, sending him a grateful grin.

Michael shrugged offhandedly. “You know how I can get. Rage-Quit Jones and all that.”

“Yeah I’m beginning to think they should call you that instead of Mo-“

He cut off mid-sentence. Turning to Michael and putting a finger over his lips to warn him but in that instance the corridor exploded with the hissing sound of gas exploding from a canister. The smoke was everywhere all at once and so thick he could no longer see Michael. Then with one hasty gasp to try and call out his name his mind immediately went foggy.

He heard a body hit the floor and felt his knees going weak whilst his vision began to blur. The last thing he saw were a pair of dark boots and the faint sound of someone laughing before his head hit the ground.

\----

When Ryan woke his mind was groggy and his sight blurred from the heavily concentrated sleeping gas he had been exposed to. But that didn’t stop him from trying to push himself up onto his feet to look for Michael.

That’s when he noticed the constraints around his wrist which were attached to concrete floor. They were too strong for him to break with force even despite having very little chain length – meaning he could barely raise himself into a sitting position, forcing him to stay on his hands and knees.

“Honestly I expected more from the infamous Vagabond,” a voice hummed from his left. He raised his head slowly, a headache slowly growing in his temple as he blinked furiously, trying to make out the figure sitting in the shadows. “You and your friend were far too easy to take out.”

“What the fuck did you do to Mogar?” he snarled, pulling desperately at the heavy chains even though he knew it would do nothing.

“Your chivalry is cute,” was the reply, “But you needn’t have bothered. I left your little bear where I found him. No doubt your crew has already stumbled across his unconscious body and when he finally reaches consciousness I’m sure that, much like you, his first though will be ‘Where’s Ryan?’”

“How do you know my name?”

“I make sure to know my targets inside and out before I strike. Knowing which buttons to push makes it a lot more fun. And don’t worry, you have plenty of nerves I can strike,” the voice assured him.

Ryan was trying to subdue his panic – Gavin had been kidnapped plenty of times and they had found him easily. Surely, it would be the same for him. But Ryan got the unnerving feeling that this wasn’t just some punk in a warehouse, this was someone with skill. Someone he’d probably love to have a conversation with had he not been chained to their floor.

“What do you want with me?” Ryan demanded, “Why take just me and not Mogar too?”

A small giggle followed the sound of a chair scraping against the concrete floor and his kidnapper finally emerged from the shadows. Shorter and daintier than he imagined, a woman with long purple curls was smiling devilishly at him, her fingers curled around a gun. “Didn’t anyone tell you, sweetheart? Don’t mess with a doll with a gun.”

His eyes widened. “But I thought-“

“I know what you thought,” she bit, cutting him off, “That’s why I came after you. Nothing more embarrassing than someone from Fake AH not thinking I’m real. Especially, when it’s _you_ , Rye.” She pouted at him, her tone far too playful for his liking. She was taking advantage of her innocent appearance to lull him into a false sense of security, but he knew that trick too well to fall for it. He reckoned she knew that too, but a good character is hard to break – he should know.

“Well I know you’re real now. So how about you undo these chains and I’ll run about town singing your praises – that seem fair?” he snapped, wincing at the sharp laugh that followed.

“You’re handsome, Ryan but not _that_ handsome. Give me a little more credit than that,” she teased, the malicious glint in her eye sending chills down his spine.

“So what do you want then?” he asked.

“Nothing too strenuous,” she told him, in a tone that implied that she thought she was being generous. “I just want immunity.”

“Immunity?” he repeated, unimpressed.

She shrugged. “’Two birds one stone’ kind of situation. I show you a lesson you won’t forget and Fake AH grants me immunity should I ever get in their way,” she clarified.

“And how d’you plan on going about that?” he drawled, deadpanned, “Oh wait! Let me guess! You’re going to ransom me. Original.”

Her lips curled up into a cruel smile, amusement twinkling behind the malice in her eyes. “That coming from the Bruce Wayne wannabe? Or did you think it was original trying to scare people by dressing up in a spooky mask?”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. She was sharp-tongued and he didn’t like how much it appealed to him. “This isn’t going to work out for you, Doll-Face.”

Cocking her head to the side, she said, “Enlighten me.”

“They know you’ll never go through with any threats you make because everyone knows if you kill me, you lose. They’ll come after you with a fury you’ve never seen and you’ll wish you never touched me,” he promised.

A trill of laughter followed this threat. “Oh no, baby,” she cooed, “I win either way. I kill you and they become so sick with grief and guilt that they subsequently become a lot weaker. By killing you, I destroy their dreams of grandeur – making slitting their throats that much easier. See? I win either way. One way is just easier than the other.”

He clenched his jaw. “Then why not kill me and get rid of us for good?”

Another titter echoed through the dim room. “Come on, we all know you’re all a lot more amusing alive than dead. I mean that heist you lot pulled off with the porta-potty was sheer brilliance.”

“I would say ‘thank you’ but it wasn’t my plan,” he sneered.

“Oh yes,” she replied, “I know. It was that hot red-head wasn’t it?”

Ryan scowled at her, her conversational tone was a touch too familiar and rubbed him the wrong way. No one should know that much about their crew. He had ensured that through his networking and security.

She cast him a mildly amused glance, and he realised with a grimace that she had intended to have that effect. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she told him, turning to move once again into the darkness where he heard a door creak open. “Don’t think about me too much.”

The door clicked shut and he was left to the heavy sound of his panicked breathing.

\-----

Michael lurched awake, the shout of Ryan’s name still a lump in his throat. He wasn’t in the smoky corridors of the bank but in his own bed. He wondered for a moment if it had been a dream, but the fierce headache he was supporting and Geoff’s sleeping body in the chair next to him told him otherwise.

“Geoff,” he said gruffly, his voice hoarse. His boss blinked blearily but jumped to attention upon seeing Michael conscious.

“Thank fuck,” he sighed, “you’re awake.”

“What the fuck happened? Did Ryan wake up?” Michael demanded, impatient to know what the fuck could’ve gone wrong and who the hell had decided to cross them. He assumed the rest of the crew had stopped the fucker, otherwise why would Michael be in his own bed?

But with the way Geoff’s face fell and how his gaze moved sharply away from Michael’s imploring face – he quickly discovered how wrong he had been. Growing panicked, Michael said more sharply, “What the fuck happened, Geoff?”

“We don’t know,” the older man finally admitted, flexing his tattooed fingers nervously.

“What do you mean you don’t _know_?!” Michael cried, his voice cracking and Geoff wincing.

“When and you Ryan didn’t send off the flare we got concerned. We sent Jeremy round back to scope things out but all he found was you knocked out on the floor,” he explained wearily and with his exhaustion Michael started to notice the bags under his eyes.

“Just me?” Michael asked, his voice weak.

Solemnly, Geoff confirmed, “Just you.”

Michael inhaled sharply, his head swimming as he threw away the covers and pushed himself off the bed. Ignoring the way the room swayed and Geoff’s concerned pleas to get back into bed, Michael braced himself against the wall and muttered, “No, no, no, no. Not him.”

Not Ryan. Dangerous, murderous Ryan with his unconventional morality and far too conventional beauty. Not Ryan. Who had saved him far too many times and had stopped his heart more than Michael could count. Not Ryan. Who was seemingly oblivious to it all and was now lost to the criminal underground.

Michael’s head flooded with emotions, anger coursing as a heavy wave, crashing down onto his mind, filling him with vengeful vigour. Who could’ve done this? Who would’ve risked their life to catch the Vagabond? Who had reason to-

His head raised. “I know who did it.”

“What? How would you-?”

“Oh, that bitch is going to pay,” he snarled, storming out the room before Geoff even had another moment to speak.

\----

Ryan’s headache faded with time but was soon replaced with tiredness, hunger and thirst. He struggled to keep awake, desperate not to let himself fall prey to her again but with the lack of nutrition his eyes felt heavier than ever. He thought about the pre-heist lunch Jack had invited him to and regretted turning down her offer.

His arms ached because he insisted on remaining on his hands and knees, knowing that even the hard stone floor would be enticing for his exhausted body. He breathed heavily through his nose, and when he felt sleep grip him too tightly he forcibly reminded himself of the danger he was in – using the adrenalin to keep him awake.

Removing Ryan’s concept of time was another cliché, but hell if it didn’t work. Fake AH had used it a number of times and he could feel the effects driving home. Knowing how tactics worked often didn’t stop them from working.

When he finally heard the tinkle and clash of keys in a lock, it boomed through his ears. He clenched his jaw and put on a brave face, unwilling to let her see the damage she’d done. This time, when the door opened, light swept across the room causing him to flinch. Her small silhouette cast a shadow across him and she tutted at his bedraggled state.

“You really should’ve slept, sweetie,” she simpered, walking towards him with the click-clack of heels pounding through his eardrums. Her voice would’ve been soothing if it hadn’t been for the cut of malice she held behind it, to remind him that she was far from just a pretty face.

She bent down beside him and he was too exhausted to grab at her. She titled her head and smiled mockingly.

“Ah,” he croaked, a rueful grin stretching across his lips, “I played into your hands. You knew I wouldn’t sleep. You wanted me exhausted.”

She raised an eyebrow, her smile becoming softer. “I knew you were smart under all that scruff. Now drink up,” she ordered, holding a glass to his lips.

He didn’t know what she was offering but he supposed his stubbornness would get him nowhere. She had just taught him that. So he parted his lips and was grateful to taste water against lapping against his tongue. He hummed appreciatively, ignoring her pleased smile to relish this moment of peace. Once the water was done she fed him bread and some surprisingly favourable pieces of chicken.

At his curious expression, she laughed softly and explained, “I’m quite the cook. You’re just getting the scraps of last night’s dinner.”

“Colour me grateful,” he replied, sarcastically, the menace losing its touch when there was still more chicken on the plate by her feet. 

She offered no reply to his statement, only to continue feeding him until the plate was empty. They sat in silence for a moment as they analysed each other. She wished to figure out how to break him, and he wished to figure out how to break free (but breaking her would be fitting revenge).

Then she grabbed the plate and cup, rather abruptly, and stood up. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, I just need to change into some more comfortable clothes.”

Then she turned on her heels and click-clacked out of the room – leaving the door open to tease him with freedom. He stared coldly after her; she knew the game well.

\----

When she returned, an hour later (he calculated), in ripped jeans and t-shirt, he sent her a lop-sided, slightly manic grin. “You’re good at this, you know?” he told her.

She laughed, “Well that’s the first time a victim has ever complimented me on my methods.”

He gave the best shrug he could manage. “From one torture expert to another, I thought you should know.”

She paused for a second, a smile ghosting across her lips. “You’re getting weaker. So you’re resorting to the Mad King alter-ego.”

His grin hardened. “Like I said, you’re good.”

Another, ghost-like smile. “Shame we have to meet in such unfortunate circumstances. I would’ve loved to take you out for dinner.”

“Perhaps, as compensation, you could offer me your real name,” he suggested.

She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Well, I see it as common curtsy. If you’re about to torture me, you might as well give me your name so I know what to call you when I’m begging for mercy,” he countered.

That earned him a melodic laugh, far from the sharp one he’d heard earlier. “Do people really fall for that blue-eyed bullshit?”

He tried to keep the disappointment off his face. “When I’m not wearing my mask, yes.”

A smile tugged at her lips as she pulled her hair up into a ponytail, swinging a dark hoodie around her shoulders. “Well, you’re pretty face is about to come into use,” she told him, moving to a wall which glowed from the fluorescent light from outside his cell. He hadn’t noticed it before but it was adorned with buttons, levers and sliding switches with different numbers stuck onto them with tape.

She looked behind her shoulder at him and he tried to stop the fear from clouding his judgement. “What would you say about a little bit of acting,” she inquired, an unnerving gleam in her eye. “Though I’m sure your actions will come from the heart.”  Ryan remained silent. She let out a tinkling laugh. “Don’t worry, pet. It’s just a little show to get the ball rolling. The better you perform, the sooner they’ll pay up, hm?”

And then with no warning she pressed a finger against one of the sliding switches and slowly dragged it down. He felt the cuffs around his wrists grow tighter as the chain started disappearing into the floor, dragging him downwards so that his face was pressed up against the concrete.

“Yes, that’s a good angle,” she purred, grabbing a camera and tripod from just outside the cell and set it up in front of him. She attached a mic onto her shirt and when she noticed his eyes watching her, smiled and said, “I’m sure the camera will pick you up without a mic.”

“Great,” he mumbled.

Once she seemed satisfied, she pressed a button on the expensive looking camera, and a small ‘ping’ echoed throughout the room. He felt his heart in his throat, his nerves on edge as he tried to figure out what she had planned so that he could prepare himself. From behind the gaze of the camera she began to speak.

“Hello, infamous Fake AH Crew, I believe I have something of yours. Blond, blue-eyed and all-round very stubborn. He’s a bit tired at the moment, so excuse him if he doesn’t say hello but I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon,” she paused smirking at the way Ryan squirmed in his uncomfortable position. “My terms are simple, Kingpin. Grant me, Doll-Face, immunity and you get your bodyguard back. But refuse my terms and Ryan loses his value to me and therefore loses his life. Once his body is strung across the Maze Bank, I’ll come for you, one by one - keeping in mind how easy it was for me to capture, Ryan.”

As she said this, she strolled away from the camera, returning to the wall with buttons and levers. “Now,” she continued, “to give you a sense of urgency, I’ll give you a taste of the experience Rye is having down here.”

She sent him a smirk and he braced himself, closing his eyes. He heard the click of a button. He waited. And then the floor disappeared out from under him and he was plunged into cold salty water. He kicked and scrambled to reach air, seeing his captor waiting for him with a clicker in her hand. When he broke the surface of the water she asked him, “How much experience with electrocution do you have?”

He didn’t get a moment to answer. His body went stiff as his cuffs shot electricity through him and he convulsed and cried an open-mouth yell. Water began to claim him once more, not having control of his legs meant he sunk to the bottom of the pool, gagging on the water as the shocks of electricity ripped through his system.

After what felt like a lifetime, and he was near the end of his oxygen supply, the cuffs on his wrists tightened and begun to drag him upwards. In the time he was underwater she had readjusted the chains so that they hung from the ceiling. When they finally stopped cranking, he was dangling, half out of the water, half in it. Gasping for hair and still shaking from electrocution. The salt in his mouth making him thirsty and delirious. So much so he didn’t notice her taking out a gun until she shot him in the thigh. He yelled weakly, too tired and too numbed by the electrocution to give a good performance but she didn’t seem too disappointed in him.

He watched the blood trail down his thigh and into the pool, watching the red spiral and fade into the bubbly water. He heard too the sound of her speaking again but the ringing in his ears prevented him from hearing. He noticed that the water levels were getting lower, and that the floor was rising to replace the faux-sea. It pushed at his feet and supported his aching body as he crumpled onto it. He groaned as the bullet wound began to feel more palpable but her hands were at his wound, tenderly prying the bullet out, sowing up the gaping wound and wrapping it firmly. He was too delirious to care that she had stripped him to his underwear or to wonder why she was bothering to heal him and give him painkillers because sleep was finally winning its battle and he slowly faded into uneasy unconsciousness.

\----

Michael gripped his hands into fists so tight they left angry half-moons on his palms but that’s what it took to stop him breaking the TV as he watched Ryan cry and scream. A feminine voice carried out commentary over it, noting how positively he was reacting and how much she looked forward to testing his limits.

“I’ve never had someone has exciting as him before,” she told them.

As Ryan’s soaking, shuddering body was drawn out from the bubbling water, the sound of a gunshot echoed through the audio and another cry came from Ryan. Michael’s eyes were fixed on the pool of blood forming in the water.

“Finally, I’m going to leave him here overnight and we’ll hope he won’t bleed out!” she sung sweetly before the video stopped abruptly.

There was silence from everyone. They reeled from seeing their strongest member reduced to whimpers and the thought that by morning, Ryan could be dead.

“Give her what she wants,” Gavin said hollowly, finally breaking the silence, “Just bloody give her the immunity and get Ryan back.”

Geoff pressed his mouth into a thin line, rubbing the scruff on his face anxiously. “What does she want with that immunity?”

“To get in on our deals, work in our territory and become even more powerful than before,” Jack replied. Geoff nodded at her words but Gavin seemed to get even angrier.

“Who gives a toss?!” he cried, “It’s _Ryan_.  And she’s throwing different torture methods at him like it’s going out of fashion!” He turned to Michael and he could see tears welling up in the Brit’s eyes. “Come on, Michael! We _have_ to save him. Help me out here!”

Michael couldn’t form words. The guilt was suffocating him. This was all because of _him_. Because _he_ didn’t look after Ryan.

“Michael!” Gavin urged furiously, his voice shaking, “agree with me!”

“I-I…” he stammered, looking up at the screen where Ryan was frozen in the final frame, hanging there weak and wounded. He felt like throwing-up.

“We can’t agree just yet,” Geoff said soothingly, “We need to think about this.”

Gavin swore angrily at them, kicked over a chair and stormed out of the room. Jack came up behind Michael and rubbed his shoulders soothingly. He hadn’t noticed he had been crying until she hushed him. Geoff turned the lad and he could see the anguish in his boss’ eyes. “We’ll figure this out, Michael,” he promised, “and we’ll make her pay for it too.”

\----

When Ryan woke up he was on a soft bed, his eyelids fluttered and he winced at the bright white light surrounding him.

“I thought you might like a change in scenery,” he was told. He turned his head to the side and there was she sitting. Her purple hair brighter than ever, bouncing on her shoulders and falling onto the white dress she was wearing. He noticed idly that she matched the room and its creamy white ceiling and floors. White table and chair. He looked down and saw that he was dressed in a white shirt and trousers.

He groaned. “White torture.”

A smile blossomed on her face, somewhat proud of him. “Yes, well done. You _do_ know your torture methods.”

He tried to sit up but his limbs were weak underneath him and his leg pulsed with dull pain. She chastised him softly, pushing his shoulders down and readjusting the pillow under him. “You still need to heal,” she said, running her fingers through his hair (he didn’t notice himself leaning into her touch).

“You…” he started, reeling back away from her, memories of the dark room and blurred pain, of her small hands nursing him, surfaced from his hollow mind.

“Yes,” she admitted, “well I couldn’t have you bleeding out could I?”

He furrowed his eyebrows. His mind slow and fuzzy. She let out a tinkling laugh and explained, “I meant what I said before- I would’ve loved to take you out for dinner. You’re lovely.” A pause as she smiled. “Speaking of which! Breakfast!”

She leaned over to a white bedside table where a white canister sat on top of it. At his unamused expression she said, “It’s Soylent.”

He was silent as she lifted it to his lips and he slurped down the lumpy liquid. It was full of organic shit that reminded him distantly of the time Geoff and Jack had tried going a week purely on liquids – a misshapen plan to become the next criminal power couple which didn’t last more than a day. Jack had missed take-out too much.

When the canister was empty he said grouchily, “It was a bit extravagant.”

“Hm?”

“The water. The electricity. The bullet,” he explained, too tired to really articulate himself.

A grin pulled at her lips. It looked genuine. A small tired part of his mind noted how he liked her smiling. Even the evil villain smile she did. Another part of his mind voiced how fucked up that was. But then again, hadn’t Michael said something like that once? About how Ryan looked the most Ryan after he murdered?

She was looking at him now, eyebrows raised as if she was waiting for something- and he suddenly realised he hadn’t been listening. It probably wasn’t wise not to listen to the murderess who currently had him captured in her evil lair which apparently had multiple rooms.

“You’re still exhausted aren’t you?” she cooed, proud of her work. “I’ll leave you to rest then, baby.”

“No-!” he half-cried as she got up and walked over to a white door. Once she left the psychological torture would begin. When her purple curls left his sight for good, the only colour in his life drained with it.

\-----

He didn’t see her for days. He didn’t see _anyone_ for days. All he got was a shitty canister of Soylent sitting at the door and the horrible feeling that his crew weren’t going to save him. He was thinking too much. He was laughing too much. He was crying too much.

He was thinking too much about her purple hair and how much he missed her and her light-hearted laugh. He thought a lot about how impressive this all was and how _the fuck_ did he not think she was real before all of this?

He also thought about Fake AH. He wondered what they were doing and why she hadn’t gotten what she wanted yet. Didn’t they care enough to get him out?

He got sad.

And then he got angry.

He would sit and fume. Arms-folded as he stared at the door. One day he threw his _stupid_ white canister at the door and it exploded against the door. For a moment his mind expected a splash of colour but the liquid was white too. He regretted wasting it.

He yelled too. Demanding that she tell him something and tell him what his crew had said. But he was met with silence. He was sure that somewhere she was laughing, and he tried to imagine it. But he couldn’t.

He just couldn’t.

\----

Gavin wasn’t talking to any of them. He was sleeping at Ray’s apartment and doing jobs with him. Originally, he had tried hacking into the system, to grant Doll-Face what she wanted. And he had even tried threatening Geoff with a gun but that had only ended in tears, a shattered window and Gavin packing his bags.

Michael spent a lot of time drinking and staying in bed. Lindsay would bring him meals but otherwise they mostly left him alone. He heard Jack and Geoff arguing a lot. Which ended in messy kisses and hushed apologies. But at least the two of them were trying to find Ryan. Gavin didn’t think it counted as trying but Michael vaguely understood the politics behind it.

If anyone could capture a Fake AH member, demand immunity and subsequently get it. Then anyone would. They would lose the status which kept them safe and they’d probably all have to relocate. On the macrocosmic scale, it made sense. But as Michael downed another beer, he couldn’t help but feel like he was losing his mind.

\----

Ryan started thinking about what he would do to her when she returned. He had his strength back, there were no handcuffs and he reckoned he could take her. He started devising the ways he would torture her and make them even. The thought made his heart beat and his fingers twitch with excitement as he tried to imagine her crying for mercy.

He had long since abandoned the hopes of being saved. It had been over a fortnight. She would come to kill him soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II coming up either tomorrow or Saturday, my lovelies.


	2. Part II: Death

Fake AH received another message. Silent and hazy footage of Ryan in a white chamber, raging and ranting, throwing a chair. Doll-Face’s voice low and angry (and maybe it was the static, but her voice seemed to shake too).

“I thought you would know better than to test me. He thought so too. He thought you would save him. You’ve _forced_ me to kill him. Beautiful, Ryan. I’m going to have to slit his throat all because you’re all too arrogant to admit defeat.” She paused. “Fucking cowards,” she snarled and the video ended.

The emotions were two-fold. First, seeing Ryan walking and talking was a breath of fresh air. But her rage and her venom made Michael drown in guilt. He felt more helpless than ever and as Geoff placed his head in his hands Michael knew Gavin had been right.

He went back to his room and locked the door. He turned the TV on, flicked the news channel and waited to see Ryan’s body on top of the Maze Bank.

\----

Ryan was sleeping when the door creaked open. His eyes shot open. Her hair was shoulder-length now but still bright purple. Her false-lashes were gone and she had a pair of glasses pushed up her nose. A knife hung lifelessly in her hand.

She was sniffling. Like she had been crying.

“They didn’t pay up, did they?” he snarled. All the anger which had been building up over the past weeks flooded through his system.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Rye,” she murmured as she finally reached the bed. And in an oddly amatory manner, she climbed into his lap and pressed the knife to his neck. He thought idly about how he should be scared. But instead, he just felt anger. She sniffled again and admitted, “I’ve actually grown quite fond of you.”

He snapped, “Don’t waste your breath apologising. You made the terms clear. They failed to fucking understand.”

Surprised, she finally met his burning gaze. “I turned you against them.”

He smiled coldly, “When have your tactics ever failed?”

She cocked her head, her eyes lighting up with intrigue and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “And you recognise that I did this on purpose and still you hate them?”

“I find that I can hate both you and them quite easily,” he bit.

She dug the knife tighter against his skin, her eyes flaring with anger as their faces drew closer so she could hiss, “Hate me? But I’ve been so kind to you, Ryan.”

He scowled. His Adam’s apple running against the blade. His eyes never left hers. “Kindness was never a big turn-on for me.”

She opened her mouth to retaliate but instead decided to kiss him. It was all anger and grief and- God, he drowned in it. It was delicious to finally feel something other than pain. He should've been worrying about the knife at his neck but all he cared about was getting more her taste. His heart thumped unevenly as her tongue traced his bottom lip, sucking on it heartedly. He groaned, not noticing the sound until it left his throat. It made her jump, the knife nicking his neck at her jerky movement.

She scrambled from his lap and let out a breathy, “Fuck!” She turned away from him, the knife still tight in her hand as drops of blood started to ooze from his wound. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck you, Ryan!”

She stormed out. She almost forgot to lock the door.

\----

She hadn’t killed him.

Why hadn’t she killed him?

\----

Michael stated numbly at the news.

She hadn’t killed him yet.

What was she waiting for?

\----

She came back covered in blood and dragging a body behind her. It left a bright red trail behind it. She tossed the limp man onto the floor and ordered, “Come over here and make sure he looks like you.”

Numbly, he complied. He kneeled on the floor and turned the body over, staining his hands with blood. The face had been heavily mutilated but he supposed it could pass.

“Is it any good?” she asked.

“Who are you trying to fool?” he returned, his eyes fixed on the bright blood pouring from his eye sockets. He’d missed the colour red.

“Everyone.”

He wrenched his gaze away to give her a withering look. “They’ll figure it out.”

She pursed her lips. “I’m just buying some time.”

He frowned, “For what?”

Her gaze, dropped and she started playing with her blood-stained fingers. Her mouth remained firmly shut.

Annoyance prickled at his skin. The door was wide open. He could run. He could leave. But instead he was sitting in a pool of blood waiting for her to explain herself.

“I told you before,” she said quietly, “I’ve grown fond of you.” And then just as abruptly as she’d entered, she grabbed the corpse and left. Leaving the trail of blood as his only companion.

He should’ve run when he could.

\----

Michael stated numbly at the screen. A man had been found dead on top of the Maze Bank with a note tucked in his pocket saying, ‘ _I warned you_.’

He heard Gavin storm into the apartment, yelling profanities and damning them all to hell. Then he burst into Michael’s room, red-eyed and tense.

“Come _on_ ,” he ordered harshly, tossing Michael his jacket, “We’re getting his body.”

Michael winced but otherwise didn’t move.

He could see Gavin losing his temper. “What the bloody hell is _wrong_ with you, Michael?!” the Brit hollered, “Don’t you even care?!”

His eyes flashed up to Gavin’s and he had the Brit violently pushed up against the wall before he could even squawk. Gavin flailed under Michael’s tightening grasp around his neck, gasping for air. “ _Don’t you see_?” Michael growled, “this is **all** my fault.”

“Michael,” a voice interrupted from the doorway. “Let him go.”

Ray stared down at Michael, and he found himself loosening his grip on Gavin. Once free, he pushed Michael away from him and stormed out the room.

Michael hung his head, a mixture of shame and grief making him feel sick to his stomach. He drifted back to his bed and let out a shaky sigh. “Go without me,” he told his old friend.

“No way,” was the reply, and Ray joined him on the edge of the mattress. “We need to talk.”

Michael closed his eyes. “No we fucking don’t.”

“Uh, yeah we fucking do. Last time we talked you had the biggest fucking crush on Ryan-“ Michael flinched. “-and I know you were there when it happened. So we need to talk about this otherwise it’ll eat you up.”

Michael fidgeted.

“So spill,” Ray urged.

Michael paused as he tried to gather his words. Then as he opened his mouth it spilled out like a waterfall. “It’s… It’s my fault. I was talking with him, I distracted him and she got the best of us. Now he’s gone and it’s only a matter of time before the crew realises who to blame.”

“Don’t you think that everyone else feels just the same way?” Ray asked and at Michael’s furrowed eyebrows he explained, “Geoff is beating himself up for not sending out a team to scope out the area beforehand. Jack is raging about how this was the first time in forever she didn’t bother to put trackers on the team. Gavin is angry because he was meant to be going in with you rather than Ryan-“

“But it was _me_ with him,” Michael interrupted impatiently, “ **Not** them. No one could’ve predicted it. But I was  there, I could’ve stopped her.”

“Dude, I checked out the shit you were hit with. Geoff sent me sample when you were out. It was pretty strong stuff, you didn’t have a chance in hell.”

“Real comforting, Ray.”

“Look, we can’t change the past. But we do have control over the future and I’ll be damned if we don’t give that bitch hell.”

Something flickered in Michael’s chest. A familiar anger which had been bubbling underneath for weeks now. An anger which had been stolen from him alongside Ryan.

Ray was right. And hadn’t he said himself? The bitch was going to pay.

\----

When she came back later she was in a dark blue dress and a nervous smile was draped across her lips. She held two plates of steaming food in her hand and beckoned him to the table. Obedient as ever, though he blamed curiosity rather than her subtle brainwashing, he sat at the table, staring hungrily at the pasta dish in front of him.

He raised his gaze to the woman sitting opposite him and asked, “So what’s all this?”

“Didn’t I say I would’ve loved to take you out to dinner?” she replied, “Well, this is the makeshift version.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So… is this a first date or what?”

Her eyes sparkled mischievously, “Maybe.”

He nodded, “Right. Just when I thought things couldn’t get more fucked up I embark on probably the weirdest first-last date ever.”

“First-last?” she repeated, frowning.

“Well, I assume you’re going to kill me eventually otherwise Fake AH will be all over you,” he explained, taking the cutlery she was handing him.

She shrugged, “Doesn’t mean we can’t have another date in between.”

 “Good point,” he replied, “But I do believe a first date is grounds for knowing each other on a first-name basis.”

Letting out a small giggle, she conceded, “Yes, I thought you might say that. My name’s Meg.”

Ryan smiled broadly, “I would say it’s lovely to meet you-“

“But you wouldn’t want to lie to me,” she finished, smirking at him.

“Exactly.”

The evening followed in a similar pattern, the circumstances surrounding them dimmed into fuzzy context as they chattered and harmlessly bickered – ignoring the trail of the blood which still stained the floor.

\----

The wind whipped through Michael’s hair, flushed under his shirt and lashed his reddening cheeks. They stood on top of the Maze Bank as their inside men got the LSPD to disappear. At first he didn’t want to go near him, the outline of his drooping body sickening enough but he saw Gavin’s clammy face and bruising neck and knew that he had to do something. No one wanted to be the one to get up close but he owed it to Ryan to at least try.

He took a shaky step forward, over to the slumping man which wore the all too familiar jacket. As the moon cast light on his face Michael had to pause to wretch. Eyes gouged out, face ripped to pieces – it barely held any resemblance to Ryan anymore.

He felt the sickness and sobs climbing up his throat and he tried with every ounce of strength he had not to cry. “I’m so sorry, Ryan. I’m so-“ He choked back a sob. Michael took his hand gingerly, rubbing circles into its cold surface.  Then he paused. He turned over his hand – smooth and untouched. Michael knew for a fact that Ryan had a scar there from where Gavin had accidently shot him in the hand.

His eyes narrowed. He grabbed the jaw sitting in front of him and titled it to the left so he could inspect his right ear. Another missing scar which should’ve trailed down behind his ear – the remnant of a knife-fight.

“Michael what is it?” he heard Geoff calling over the wind.

His hands balled into fists, he stood up and faced his crew, fury and toxic hope flooding through his veins. This wasn’t Ryan. Ryan was still alive.

\----

Ryan hadn’t enjoyed himself so much for a long time. Sure, he had loved working with the crew but there was something missing. And it was her. Meg was what was missing from his life. His so called friends had abandoned him, left him to be tortured and murdered whilst she risked her reputation to keep him alive for as long as possible.

Days flashed past his eyes, days spent talking to her and laughing with her. She even dragged a limited edition PS4 into his cell so that they could play Tower Fall together – she destroyed him at it. But as long as she was smiling, so was he.

Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice was nudging him, telling him that something was off. Trying to remind him that this was his captor, who had tortured him and was planning on killing him. But as he stared as this beautiful woman who fed him and took care of him, that voice got smaller and smaller until it didn’t exist at all.

All he thought and dreamed about was her. Was pleasing her, being with her and making her life easier. It was easy to be happy because she was always happy with him. And when he’d been especially good, she’d kiss him and he would feel like he was flying.

But god, he was falling. Falling hard and fast, with no parachute. He just didn’t think about the fact that eventually he’d shatter into the ground.

\----

Relationships in the crew were rusty. Gavin still hadn’t moved back in and was still keeping a wary distance from his former best friend. Michael still preferred isolation, often finding that whilst once he had loved to be in a big room with his noisy friends, it now only served to provoke panic attacks. Ray was a more frequent visitor these days, often serving as a mediator between everyone as they refocussing their attempts on finding Ryan.

With less and less success hopelessness began to suffocate Michael once more, it was only the encouragement of Geoff (who was desperate to stop Michael from falling apart again) which kept him working on their plans.

But the thing which really tormented his mind was the question of ‘Why’. Why hadn’t she killed him and what was with the radio silence? If she had wanted to extend the terms, she would’ve said. If she wanted to torture him some more, she would’ve sent video proof. So what was she doing with him?

Last time they’d seen him he had been exposed to something Lindsay called ‘White Torture’ which was a form of psychological torture. She gathered that it was a tactic to turn Ryan against Fake AH so that if he was ever released, he would want nothing to do with them. The thought caused boiling hot panic to shoot through Michael’s veins and he had even wondered at the time if he would prefer a Ryan that was dead over a Ryan that hated him.

After actually thinking Ryan was dead, he would take a hateful Ryan any day.

\----

It was a lazy morning, with her stretched across his lap as he played Halo. She hummed to herself as she watched him, staring up at him with her big brown eyes.

A smirk played on his lips as he felt her impatient eyes. “Yes?” he asked, trying to pay attention to the game in front of him rather than her gleaming smile.

“Are you happy here, Ryan?” she hummed, playing with the ends of her curled hair.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he told her, “Of course. You keep me safe.”

“Is that all?” she pouted.

He chuckled and paused the game, smiling down at her as he said, “I’m happy with _you_. Not just because you protect me, but because I trust you and I enjoy being with you.”

“Do you miss your crew?” she inquired, maintaining steady eye contact.

His smile faltered as a battle of emotions knocked about his brain. “I…” She raised an eyebrow, mild curiosity and a slight tint of jealously crossing her expression. “I don’t. They betrayed me.”

She grinned and he knew he’d answered correctly. Of course he didn’t miss Fake AH, they had left him to die. They didn’t care about him so why should he care about them?

\----

One morning Meg left for the day, saying she had a job to be done. When she returned she was dusty and smelt of smoke – he kissed her hard, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to him.

When their lips broke apart she asked, “What was that for?”

“Well A, I missed you. And B, I’ve missed the smell of a good day out,” he told her, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He didn’t mean anything of it, but her expression fell slightly. “What?” he asked, slightly panicked, “What did I say?”

She shook her head, smiling weakly. “It’s nothing, Rye.” But she didn’t hang around after dinner that night and Ryan hardly got a wink of sleep.

\----

Meg noticed it in the morning, frowning and cupping his cheek. “Did you not sleep well, baby?” she asked him.

He grimaced and shook his head. “Was worrying too much.”

“About what?”

“You didn’t stay after dinner. I upset you.”

Her frown deepened but she assured him, “No. You didn’t upset me.” But her expression didn’t lift, she looked even more concerned than before and it made him feel uneasy.

\----

She had pushed him too far. Meg had realised this the moment he’d uttered those words. She’d fallen for his snark and dangerous gleam and in an effort to save him from her wrath she had made him into her puppet and he’d lost everything which had made him so special.

She’d broken him. She had thought, foolishly, that she could make it work. That she could keep him forever and have him forever. But her conditioning tactics weren’t built for long-lasting exposure, it was meant for a short-term experience which would leave him shaky upon his return to the real world but ultimately still Ryan.

She loved him, hopelessly so. And that’s why she’d carried on this charade for so long though she knew this wasn’t right for him. She was acting selfishly and whilst he was indoctrinated to think she was saving him, she was really destroying him.

And every loving stare and tender kiss made the guilt pang even harder. She was meant to be made of stone but he’d weathered her down. He was meant to be her most enjoyable kill yet, but he’d only ended up being her Achilles heel.

She thought ruefully of what could have been if they had bumped into the street strangers and met in different circumstances. Meg pondered the fun they could have and the killing sprees they could have gone on. They could’ve been an unstoppable duo but she’d ruined it.

And he deserved better. She knew that now.

\----

She was solemn when he woke up the next morning. She had a hoodie wrapped around her and her mouth was pinched into a frown as she sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the open door. “Meg, dear, what’s wrong?” he questioned.

“You have to go,” she said quietly, so quietly he thought he misheard her. 

Propping himself up on his elbow, he asked, “What was that?”

“You have to go,” she repeated more firmly, though her voice shook with the amount of conviction she tried to place in it.

He froze. “What?”

At the hurt in his voice she screwed her eyes shut, pulling her arms tight around herself as if she was trying to stop herself from shattering. “You can’t live like this,” she told him, her words wobbling, “Eventually you’ll- you’ll hate me for what I’ve done to you and your friends.”

“No! They’re not my friends and I _love_ you,” he insisted, trying to grab her arm but she pulled out of his reach.

She shook her head and inhaled deeply. When she exhaled it sounded more like a sob than a breath. “And I love you too. _That’s_ why you need to go. Because I need to know that you love me because you just do, not because of Stockholm syndrome or something equally fucked up.”

“Meg, I don’t understand I thought we were happy-“

She let out another choked sound. “We were, Ryan.”

“Wasn’t it real?”

She still refused to look at him and it felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest.

“Yes, of course,” she promised, “on my side at least. But we can’t know if this is how you really feel.”

“I’m not going to leave,” he told her firmly.

She smiled grimly, he could see the trails of tears reflecting light off of her cheeks. “That’s what I thought you’d say. So I sent Fake AH a message saying where we are.”

“You did what?!” he growled.

She stood up gingerly, “Either you leave now on the helicopter which is waiting outside or they come and get you. Either way, you’ll be out of here.”

“Meg, they could catch you-“

She was at the door at this point, and she let out a broken laugh. “Don’t you know me better, sweetheart?”

And then she was gone.

He tried running after her but the unfamiliar corridors just seemed to lead him to the helicopter pad. His body shook with unreleased anguish and the fear of being in the world again. But he knew that if he hung around too long the crew would be here, and he wasn’t ready to face them quite yet. So, with great reluctance he got into the helicopter and flew away.

\----

Adrenalin pumped through Michael’s veins so fast his vision felt blurry and his breath came short. When they piled off of Jack’s Cargobob, Michael was at the front of the pack, gun raised and out for blood.

They had received the message forty minutes ago. It was simple coordinates and the words ‘ _Come and get him, boys._ ’ It was Lindsay who saw the message first, hauling Michael, Jack and Geoff out of their respective beds and frantically called Gavin. When their doorbell rang, Ray had come along with the Brit, a firm look on his face that told them that he wasn’t letting them go without him.

When they arrived there it was a blue beach house, far out on its own island which they all swore they’d never seen on a map before. A helicopter pad sat on the deck, leading them to the wide open doors.

The lights were still on as they swept through the house, going down a floor to the basement where they found the scenes of torture they’d seen on the videos. First was the dark room, with chains still lying on the floor. Geoff and Gavin (who were still ironing out bumps in their friendship) decided to explore the room further, to try and find fingerprints of Doll-Face (assuming she’d already ditched the sinking ship). Ray and himself took the final white room, with Jack and Lindsay’s voices cackling in their ears to tell them to watch out for traps.

All they found was discarded dinner plates and a slept-in bed. Michael leaned out and touched it – still warm. He grabbed the sheets and brought them to his face, inhaling deeply. The familiar smell of Ryan washed over him and he felt a smile whisper at his lips.

He made eye-contact with Ray and nodded. The Puerto-Rican pressed his intercom and said steadily, though there was no denying the lightness in his voice – “Confirmed Ryan was here. And recently. Jack, you scope out the area and see if you can find any boats or aircrafts making a getaway. We’ll do a further scope of the house and see if he’s in here somewhere. Jesus knows this bitch likes to play games.”

Jack did as told but found nothing. They tore the house apart but he wasn’t there. After an hour Gavin trudged out from the basement, a crumpled piece of paper in his fist and he shoved it into Michael’s hands.

He unfolded it gingerly, his hands shaking from the fear of what crippling words might be on the paper.

_Dear Fake AH,_

_If you’ve found this note but haven’t found Ryan, I’m afraid he’s lost to you. This morning I gave him a choice. He could either leave and start his life anew or wait for you to pick him up._

_If he’s not in the White Chamber, then he’s not interested in seeing you._

_But hey, at least I didn’t kill him. He really is a charmer._

_\- Doll-Face_

The words swam in front of his face as his fingers tightened around the flimsy lined paper. “I don’t believe her,” he growled, shoving the paper at a concerned looking Ray.

“I don’t either,” Gavin agreed, his face pale.

Geoff was watching them calculatingly, clearly in disagreement but considering whether or not it was worth it to get in the way of Gavin’s desires again.

 Ray, reading promptly, shoved the paper into his pocket and said, “Well there’s one way to find out. She clearly left this place in a hurry, so I bet my ass she’s left some fingerprints or a strand of hair _somewhere_. We find that and then we start hunting.”

\----

Ryan went into autopilot mode. His flying was a little messy, but muscle memory was a powerful thing. He knew that as long he just didn’t think until he was safe then the psychological side-effects wouldn’t hit just yet. Once he’d gotten his bearings, he knew where he needed to go. He kept out of Fake AH airspace and went to the first safe-house he’d ever purchased. It was the only one that the crew had never found out about and in this moment he thanked his stars for it.

He landed the helicopter in a desolate airfield about thirty minutes south and began a slow walk, limping as his bullet-wound still twinged. The dust kicked at his heels and he shivered as the cool air brushed at his skin. He rubbed nervously at his beard and remembered how much Meg had liked it, and was thankful that it would pose as a disguise.

When he reached the battered house it looked as shitty and unmemorable as he remembered it. The mailbox hung haphazardly on its hinges and the paint on the house had flicked off in messy scraps. He knelt down, round the right-hand side of the house, and pried a loose board from its fixture. He reached inside and grabbed the dusty keys which sat within.

Soon, he was inside and locking the door behind him, securing the bolt and dropping the keys on a dingy wooden table. With every step he took the boards under his feet creaked and he winced at the sound. A bird chirped outside a window and he momentarily considered shooting it.

Feeling worn and shaken, Ryan settled into an armchair in the living room, glad that the curtains were still pulled over. And he let it hit him.

The pain, the grief, the anger, the betrayal and the confusion. Vaguely he understood why Meg did it and was somewhat grateful. But it took a lot of energy to convince his frazzled brain that this was good. That it was good to be away from Meg and from that cell.

He thought of his decision to flee before Fake AH could find him and didn’t feel as mentally torn in that respect. Regardless of Meg’s conditioning, the facts remained that they failed to save him; that the executive decision was made to favour their pride over his life. And he felt rather confident in his feelings of contempt and anger.

So what next? He gazed around the old house and down at his dirty white clothes and figured that if he was ever to fill the hole in his heart then he should start moving forward. Baby steps, of course. The more ‘normal’ his life got, the sooner he could straighten out his mind and make the decision whether or not he loved her, and whether or not he actually wanted to find her again.

\----

It was the most coordinated Fake AH had been in months. They still fought with venom and whilst they still made little to no jokes, at least they were a team again. Gavin had found a strand of purple hair in the house and it was sent off to the analytics team with urgency.

Soon they had a mug shot of a young girl with dark hair and even though it was nearly a decade out of date it was at least something. They ran her face through different programmes and managed to make a match with a driver’s licence from two years ago. When they’d achieved that they whooped with joy and it was the first smile Gavin sent his way in months.

It made the strain Michael felt just that little bit easier, because at least there was some sort of hope of getting his best-friend back even if they spent the rest of their lives looking for Ryan.

\----

Ryan was working at a bar, scrubbing the tables and only interacting with attendants if he really _had_ to. That was until he heard his old name crop up in tipsy conversation.

“What d’ya reckon happened to Vagabond?” an old man with bright red sunburn asked his friend.

His friend, a younger but extremely grumpy looking man, shrugged.

The older man continued, apparently unbothered by his friend’s lack of interest. “Y’know I was just thinking about it because I haven’t seen him in months. Not that he ever comes down to these parts - but I used to look forward to hearing about him on the news,” he mused.

His friend grunted. “Probably got bored. Everybody gets bored of Los Santos.”

Shaking his head furiously the man insisted, “Nah, he’s not the kind of folk to leave his crew behind. Deadly loyal, he is.”

“ _Was_ ,” Ryan corrected, even before he knew he was opening his mouth.

The two men turned to him with twin expressions of surprise. “Was?” the man repeated, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Well, the Vagabond is dead, isn’t he?” Ryan said with a shrug of his shoulders, wondering why this lie was coming off his tongue.

“Dead?” the friend gaped, his eyebrows rising to indicate he held emotions beyond boredom.

Ryan nodded.

“Well how d’ya know that?” the man demanded, apparently upset that Ryan had delivered such news.

“That’s what the RWBY girls are saying,” he continued to lie, “They say they found his body on top of the Maze Bank.”

“You mean that body they found slung up there the other month?”

Ryan nodded.

“But they said it was a victim of Doll-Face!”

He smiled wryly. “Couldn’t it be both? She always did claim that Los Santos crews didn’t have enough guts to save their own people.”

The men stared at him, their faces pale. “Shit,” the man swore, shaking his head and nursing his beer closer to himself. “She really is worse than Fake AH.”

Still smiling, Ryan confirmed, “She sure is.”

\----

Meg was sitting in a diner in the better part of town. It was where people dared smiles on their faces and didn’t always hold a gun so close to their chest. She was sitting at the windowsill with a strong coffee and a cheesecake as she people-watched.

It was an excuse to look for Ryan in the faceless babble of people. She could not seek him out herself but she was sure that even glimpsing his face would help ease the dreadful ache in her heart. But all she was met with were plain-clothed pedestrians who didn’t spare her purple hair a second glance.

Whilst watching a young woman fumble with the zipper of her bag, someone tapped her on the shoulder and she turned to see a familiar looking man with feathery hair and a obnoxious pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses hanging off his shirt – even though it was cloudy outside.

“Hey, sorry to bother you,” he apologised and she smiled at his British accent. It had a pleasant ring to it. “But I just wanted to tell you how much I love that colour.” He gestured towards her purple locks, his eyes glinting as he did so and Meg was _sure_ she knew him. But the bout of insomnia she was battling alongside the feeling of disconnection with the world left her brain slow and forgetful.

She titled her head, her smile widening. “Thank you,” she chirped, “I had been wanting to go purple for so long.”

“Oh, is this change recent?” he asked curiously.

Meg shook her head, “Been purple for about six months now.”

His grin widened to show his teeth, and his eyes gleamed with triumph. “Geoff’s going to be _so_ mad that he lost the bet. I _knew_ I’d find you first.”

Her smile faltered. The penny dropped.

She swore and scrambled to get out of her seat but already had her pinned against the table, wrenching her gun away from her and pointing it at her temple. “Now, now, love. Let’s not be hasty. We just want to ask you some questions.”

\----

It was the first thing Michael woke up too. A text from Gavin which lit up his screen and made his heart jump a little. He couldn’t recall the last time Gavin had directly messaged him. He grabbed his phone and scanned the text quickly.

_We got her. Come to base._

The shock nearly made him feel ill, but that didn’t stop him from flying out of bed, haphazardly throwing on some clothes and rushing out the door – keys to his Adder in hand. He was racing down the motorway to their base, a place he hadn’t stepped foot in since Ryan’s kidnapping – too scared of finding an empty Diet Coke can or one of his masks abandoned on a table. It would’ve been too much. But now with the prospect of finally getting some answers, he felt more alive than he had in ages.

When he entered the conference room he spotted Jack in the corner, her fingers flying over the keys of her laptop. When she noticed him enter she sent him a curt nod and explained, “Getting the message all over Los Santos. If he’s out there, he’ll see it.”

His step faltered. Whilst Gavin and Michael were adamant that Ryan had to still be captured somewhere, the rest of Fake AH believed Doll-Face’s bullshit that he was out there but unwilling to see them. Yet despite this hiccup, Michael otherwise maintained his vengeful grin. “Where’s the bitch?”

“Downstairs,” she replied, “as if you even need to ask.”

‘Downstairs’ was a basement reinvented into their private holding cell. It was Ryan’s favourite spot at base and Michael had heard a maniacal laugh trail up the stairs many times in the past. They intended to spill her blood, so they might as well use the room with floors that were easy to wash.

His boots thudded on the wooden stairs as he rushed down them. At the bottom was a small room which mirrored that of the LSPD’s questioning room. Gavin sat on a plush swivel chair, sitting beside a large microphone as he stared through the two-way mirror and into the holding cell where a dainty but fearsome woman was standing.

At Michael’s entrance the Brit swivelled around and noted, “You got here fast.”

“Took the Adder. Can I go in?” he asked impatiently.

Gavin eyed Ryan’s old leather jacket which was still hanging on the wall and nodded. Michael marched to the locked door, waiting for Gavin to press one of the buttons which would release the locks.

This would be fun.

\----

It was mid-morning and Ryan was walking to work, the dust around his shoes now a familiar companion to him. He’d grown fond of walks, as they allowed him to indulge in his now month-long freedom without pushing his boundaries too far. The previous evening he had gone to a secluded gun range and tried some target practice. Whilst he was still a fair shot, having a weapon in his hand made him sweat and his heart race and an unhealthy blood-lust consumed him. All he wanted was to shoot someone’s head open and watch it explode across the 2-D cardboard targets which were blank and boring.

Along with the distant sound of train shuddering past, Ryan heard the whir of a vehicle overhead. He looked up and saw a small plane weaving in and out of the clouds, a plain banner with green letters trailing behind it.

His stomach dropped when he saw his name on it.

‘ _Ryan. We have her. Please come home_.’

\----

Meg collapsed to the floor, landing on her hands and knees – pausing to cough up some blood. “That all you got?” she spat.

Mogar chuckled darkly. “Not even close,” he snarled before his boot came into contact with her jaw, knocking her over so that her head landed painfully on the floor, “You wanna tell us where the Vagabond is?”

“Oh are you talking about darling Ryan?” she taunted, earning herself a kick in the stomach. She gasped for air, desperately trying to retain a clear head. “Haven’t seen him since I sent you that message, I’m afraid.”

Then she was being dragged up by her hair and slammed her against a wall. Freckles and brown eyes burning furiously into hers. “What the _fuck_ did you to him?!”

“I let him go,” she gasped, already feeling the concussion coming on. “Not my fault he didn’t want to come home to the dear ol’ Fake AH crew.”

Mogar pulled her closer towards him, only to slam her back against the wall. “Not fucking buying it. So you better tell me the truth or-“

“Or what?” she croaked, “You’ll kill me?” She let out a weak laugh. “He’d never forgive you.”

His eyebrows furrowed, “Forgive _me_?”

She grinned, the blood staining her teeth, “Oh, how cruel of me. I forgot to mention that he’s in love with me.”

Mogar let out a roar worthy of his moniker and threw her back towards the floor but instead of attacking her, he stormed out of the room.

Meg laughed wickedly, knowing that someone somewhere was watching her. “Oh, it’s really fucking pathetic that the little cub thinks Ryan would even take a second look at him. Doesn’t he know that Ryan needs someone who understands him? Not some pining child!”

\----

Michael was riffling through the weapons drawer on the left-hand side near Gavin as her taunts flooded over the intercom. He grabbed the first knife he could get his hands on and said to Gavin, “Leave. It might get bloody and I know how you feel about these things.”

The Brit hesitated but Michael insisted, “ _Leave_ , Gavin.”

He didn’t wait this time, he rose from the chair and shakily wished Michael luck before disappearing up the stairs.

Michael stared through the two-sided mirror at the woman who was hurling insults and lies like they meant nothing to her. Screaming about how much Ryan loved her and how much he hated him. His grip on the hilt of the blade tightened and he pressed the door release button and re-entered the room.

“The cowardly lion returns,” she taunted, her lip curled up into a snarl.

Glaring at her, he warned her, “I’m not impressed with your lying, Doll-Face. It’s quite rude, if I’m honest.”

She laughed bitterly, trying to stagger to her feet. “Firstly, I’m not lying. And secondly, I’m not particularly bothered with impressing a man who abandoned one of his closest friends.”

With a flash of silver, he had he pressed up against a wall again, the knife pressed into her neck. “I’d watch yourself.”

“Funny,” she said idly, ignoring his threat, “This was exactly how I was planning to kill Ryan. A nice slice to the throat. But d’you know why I couldn’t do it?”

He flicked between her eyes, trying to figure out the angle she was taking. “Why?” he snapped.

“Because I’d grown to love him,” she admitted, and he snorted. “Well, I know _you_ don’t care about him,” she bit, “You and your crew left him to die at my hands.”

“We were looking for him,” Michael snarled.

Her smile grew colder, more sadistic. “I watched him learn to hate you, Mogar. I watched as the days spanned whilst you were no closer to finding me and his death-day grew closer. I heard him as he ranted about how of all people he at least expected _you_ to come barging him. He honestly thought you were coming to save him.” The knife tightened on her neck. “And when he realised you weren’t coming – well he came to the same realisation that I did. That you’re too cowardly to even try and save him, that you didn’t care enough to try. And he can never forget that. For as long as he lives, he’ll remember that you abandoned him and he will _never_ love you.”

He didn’t even think about it. He slit her throat, without grace or style. The blade simply ripped through her skin as if he had done so with his claws. Her eyes widened with shock as her hands flew to her throat – she clearly hadn’t thought he had it in him. Bubbling blood poured between her fingertips as she gargled and drowned on it. She gagged, as if she was trying to say something, or trying to curse him.

“R-ghh, Rygh,” she spluttered, falling to her knees. Michael titled his head, clutching the dripping knife with a manic grin across his face.

“What’s that?” he crooned, “I can’t quite understand you.”

“She was saying my name,” a voice echoed behind him.  

Leaping out of his skin, he snapped around as she let out what sounded like a sob. In the doorway Michael was greeted with the sight of a familiar frame and eyes that been haunting his dreams for months.  

“Ryan?” he gasped.

But the older man offered no explanation as he walked up to Michael. His steps were disjointed and heavy.

“You killed her for me?” he murmured, his voice rough and Michael assumed that the shine in his eyes was out of happiness.

“For you,” he confirmed, his voice wavering with unshed tears.

Ryan’s smile twisted and before Michael had a moment to recognise _that_ smile, Ryan had yanked the blade out Michael’s hand and driven it into his heart. He held it there, firmly in his chest, as Michael cried out, his eyes widening just as hers had earlier.

“W-why?” Michael begged to know.

His smile only went more crooked. It was the smile that followed every murder, that followed every successful torture. It was the smile of a sadist. Michael had fallen in love with that smile and now it was killing him.

“You deserve to know how it feels to have someone cut open your heart,” he growled, twisting the blade for further effect before violently pulling it out again and throwing the it across the room.

It clattered down as Michael’s knees gave out and he crumpled to the floor. Fresh tears fell down Michael’s face as Ryan bent over to gather her limp body into his arms, letting out a heart-wrenching sob. He ran his fingers through her hair and pressed messy kisses on her forehead. “Oh Meg, I’m sorry,” he wept, “I came back for you. I came back to say that I love you. I still love you. Please don’t be dead. Oh god, please breathe. Please, p-please.”

His voice slowly faded from Michael’s mind as blood soaked through his shirt and onto the floor. His mind went fuzzy and he heard Ryan howl once more before the blood-loss brought him into unconsciousness and snatched the life out of him.

And worst of all - he didn’t even bother to put up a fight.

 _Fin_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's that. I'm sorry ._.
> 
> This fic is riddled with foreshadowing and lines which become very ironic once reading the whole piece. If you have the time, I suggest reading it again to notice these little moments (because I’m very proud of them). 
> 
> Leave kudos if you liked, it means a lot.


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